


To Bake an Apple Pie

by lalalalalawhy



Series: Small Moments with Goddesses [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Cooking Show, Gen, Goddesses, Tumblr Prompt, What if Chopped was for Deities I guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 17:14:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10313165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalalalalawhy/pseuds/lalalalalawhy
Summary: For the prompt fromwriting-prompt-s: A popular cooking competition show has a special episode: the contestants are all deities. What special rules are in place, and how does the competition play out?Reva, lesser goddess of homestead and hearth, shepherdess of the lambing ewe, and secondary goddess of fertility (eclipse days only), goes up against a Maker of Creation and a God of Lightning and War to bake the best apple pie in existence. First, of course, they must each create the universe.(With apologies to Carl Sagan.)





	

In the beginning, there was nothing. And then, in the darkness, a voice.

“Let there be light!”

The voice boomed throughout the studio, ricocheting off unseen walls. Music, ringing from all sides, swelled then cascaded downwards, as beams of light swung up and over the set, illuminating everything briefly before coming to rest on a very familiar face. The music quieted to a thumping beat.

“If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch…” the Host said, pausing, his voice slow and steady like the gravitational pull between galaxies. He rested his gaze upon each of the three contestants in turn, then continued: “You must first… invent the universe.”

Reva, lesser goddess of homestead and hearth, shepherdess of the lambing ewe, and secondary goddess of fertility (eclipse days only) blinked away some treacherous tears. Thankful for the darkness of the studio, she looked down at her work station, blindly running her fingers over her recipe cards. It was no use, though. She was nowhere near prepared for this.

The spotlight moved to a beautiful apple pie resting on a gilded podium before the Host. Steam rose gently from the golden crust as the Host brandished a knife and, with the utmost care and violence, sliced a perfect portion. He transferred that to a plate, and held it aloft before him, both arms raised high – presenting his holy symbol to the contestants.

“Today,” the Host said, “you are issued the following challenge: you must make an apple pie entirely from scratch. You may obtain the ingredients with which to create your Universe from the pantry, but you only have a minute to do so. Each of you has been equipped with a furnace of creation and other standard kitchen equipment. By the end of our time here, the winner will present to me the best apple pie in existence. The time has been posted on the clock – let us begin.”

The three of them rushed over to the pantry, baskets in hand. Reva grabbed the ingredients she’d need: carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, helium, and leavening agent. She was out with moments to spare.

Once back at her work station, Reva went to work mixing ingredients: a little of this, a little of that, and a whole lot of nothing compressed into a tiny, tiny biodegradable container and set inside the oven for some indeterminate amount of time. She sat and chewed on her fingernails and dreamed of what her Universe would become (if it would become anything at all).

The other contestants shared none of her doubts. Stavzhi, the deity to her right, was literally a Maker of Creation, which should be against some rule somewhere, she thought. They kept smirking at her, like they could just conjure up an apple pie in no time. They probably could, the asshole.

On her left was the Leoaskr, God of War and Lightning. He was large and powerful and laughing as he crammed his ingredients into his container using only his might. She stared at him, caught herself staring, and looked down at her own work. Though he was laughing he seemed angry at something… probably everything.

What was it her poet friend had said about baking? Oh yes: “For if you bake bread with indifference, you bake a bitter bread that feeds but half man’s hunger.” Reva wondered what bread made with anger and war-making tasted like… Or pie, for that matter.

There was a Big Bang in her oven, and Reva went to check on her Universe. It had begun to expand! Fantastic. She quickly bound it in a nearby dimension and set a timer for a few thousand million years.

While she waited for that, she got out her secret ingredient: wooly socks. The other two could just zap their Universes with electricity willy-nilly, but Reva had to do hers the old-fashioned way. She pulled on the socks and waited for the timer.

Once the timer dinged, Reva pulled out her Universe and gazed into it, searching for a planet that had the right balance of elements, a decent distance from the nearest star, a good orbit, and, when she stuck a fork in, it came out clean. She settled on a small planet in a spiral galaxy, with modest gravity and a good amount of the requisite ingredients.

Reva walked back and forth, scooting her socks along the carpeted areas in the studio. With a trembling finger she reached out and… there! A small spark, a tiny zap, but hopefully with enough active ingredient to get some cellular division going.

* * *

When Mona was a young girl, the Goddess appeared to her in the form of some chalk drawings. The chalk drawings swirled around her feet as she watched, finally making the outline of a woman. And the chalk drawing spake: 

> Oh, no, clearly under-done. Not yet, just a few moments more.

And then it was nothing more than a chalk drawing once more.

* * *

When Mona was a young woman, the Goddess appeared to her in the form of a small kitchen fire.

As Mona tried to beat the fire out with a kitchen towel, a voice suddenly spake forth saying:

> Woah, hey there, no, this isn’t out of control, it’s okay, you’re all right, you can stop panicking now.

Which, of course, made Mona panic all the more, and beat it even harder with the towel. Again the Goddess spake, saying:

> I am Reva, lesser goddess of homestead and hearth and creator of this Universe and all that lies within it.

Mona was unimpressed.

“You’re a fire,” she said. She couldn’t figure out why the voice sounded so familiar.

Again the fire spake forth, trying to explain: 

> Well, yes. On this plane of existence I am a fire. But I am also Reva, lesser goddess of homestead and hearth and creator of this Universe.

Mona was silent for a few moments.

“O…kay,” she finally said, “how should I be reacting to that?”

The fire was also silent for a few moments then spake thus:  

> Um, do you feel like supplicating?

Mona raised an eyebrow at the fire. The fire flickered, then brightened. The Goddess again gave it voice, saying:

> Great, yeah, don’t do that. The other gods make their worshipers do that and they’re mostly idiots. The gods, not the worshipers. Anyway, I’ve lost my point, which is this: have you developed pastry yet?

Mona thought back to the croissant she’d had for breakfast that morning.

“Yes?”

The fire leapt and spake forth once more:

> May I give you a Holy Task? One might say it is the Holiest of Tasks?

“What?” Mona asked, perplexed. “Listen, fire-voice I’ll buy, it’s clearly something, but I’ve been an atheist all my life. I’m not going to run around doing favors for imaginary goddesses.”

She didn’t mention her memory of the chalk drawing coming to life and moving on its own.

The fire dimmed for a moment, then spake:

> Oh _sugar_ , I definitely skipped the setting-up-the-religion step. I don’t suppose you’d like to be a Holy Messenger bringing the truth of Reva, lesser goddess of homestead and hearth to the people?

“No.”

The fire nearly died. It was the size of a small candle flame when it spake thus: 

> Okay, um. Can I ask you to do me a favor just, you know, person to person?

Mona didn’t point out that one of the people in this equation was currently a talking fire. “What is it?” The fire spake in response: 

> Can you bake me a pie? Apple. The best apple pie. Can you bake me an apple pie so good that if there were a thousand pies across a thousand universes, yours would still be the best?

“I don’t… I haven’t been shopping yet this week,” Mona stammered.

The fire, burning more brightly, spake: 

> Oh, no, no. I’ll be back in a decade. Ten revolutions of your planet around your nearest star. When I return, will you have for me the best apple pie in all of creation in every timeline?

Mona hesitated, but found that she didn't want to let the voice down.

“Well," she said, "I’ve been looking for a hobby."

The fire flashed and vanished. In its place stood a very large hourglass with the words “Thank You” engraved across the base. The first few grains of sand had already fallen.

Mona sighed, and reached for her cookbook.

* * *

Ten years later, as the final grains of sand tumbled down, the Goddess once more appeared to Mona. This time, the Goddess was corporeal and accompanied by a puff of flour. Mona coughed and waved the flour dust away, taking in the sight of a short woman with a dark complexion, a long braid, and roughly woven woolen skirts.

“I have returned,” the Goddess said.

“Just like you said,” Mona replied, nodding. “I wondered if you would.”

The Goddess just smiled and looked around.

“Do you have a pie for me?” she asked.

“Oh, yes!” Mona said, realizing she was staring. “It’s just coming out of the oven now.”

The Goddess Reva, of homestead and hearth, creator of this Universe, gasped when she saw the pie. The crust was flaky and perfectly golden brown. Two little puffs of steam rose out of it, swirling in the air. The scent was scintillating: spicy, but not too spicy. Sweet, but not too sweet.

It was the most perfect pie she’d seen since… well, since before the Universe began.

“My goodness,” Reva said, still breathing in the scent.

“I got pretty good at pie,” Mona said. She didn’t mention that she’d opened her own shop, and that Goddess Apple Pie was the best-selling variety.

“Oh?” Reva asked. “That’s so wonderful. Listen, I’m in the middle of something, but when I’m done I’ll return your dish, okay?”

Mona nodded, but she was pretty sure the Goddess missed it as she blinked out of the room.

* * *

As it was written before, so it is again: a dark studio. Lights. Music. Three pies, this time.

“Deities, step forward please,” the Host said. Before him lay three slices of apple pie.

“Before we begin,” the Host said, “I’m afraid there has been a disqualification.”

There was a pause to build dramatic tension. Reva clenched and unclenched her fists by her side.

“Leoaskr, God of War and Lightning, please step forward.”

Reva breathed a sigh of relief, but Leoaskr, for all his bravado, looked ill.

“Leoaskr, buddy, care to tell us what happened?” the Host asked.

“Well,” Leoaskr said, not making eye contact with anyone present, “somehow, the plant life gained sentience.”

“Yes it did,” the Host said. “As you know, we have a policy against eating sentient beings at this event. Thank you for joining us. You may now leave.”

When asked about it later, Leoaskr would blame his failure on his over exuberant lightning bolts, which may have been true. The spark of life is a fragile thing, and he had zapped his planet heartily. But Reva also knew that you couldn’t always plan for these things, and that the baking process was always fraught. She almost felt bad for him.

Stavzhi, Maker of Creation and her only remaining rival, she felt no such pity for. They smirked as they eyed the two pies.

Reva could see why. Their pie was perfection itself, down to the last molecule. But, as the host bit into it, a grimace.

“Stavzhi,” the Host said, “what happened with your time management?”

Stavzhi acted confused. “What do you mean?”

“You had several planetary civilizations achieve sentience all at once,” the Host said. “You gave them each the directive to bake the greatest apple pie. And then, an intergalactic war broke out, wasting at least a millennia you could have been using for flavor development.”

Stavzhi hung their head. “I guess I didn’t want to put all my apples in a single bushel. This one was pretty good, though, right?”

The Host nodded. “It looks excellent. You’ll find, however, that you’re missing something. A certain pizazz, a certain pop, a certain… spark? Look, you have neither cloves nor cinnamon. That’s it.”

Stavzhi left the studio, slowly.

Reva breathed deeply and tried to slow her heart beat. Did this mean… had she won?

“Reva, no-longer-the-lesser goddess of homestead and hearth, shepherdess of the lambing ewe, and secondary goddess of fertility, you have completed the task set before you admirably,” the Host said. “You are now a full Goddess, and you are free to operate your Universe as you see fit.”

Reva blinked away tears again, but they were tears of joy now.

“Now, would you like some pie?” the Host asked.

* * *

A year after Mona handed over her best pie pan to the goddess it was returned to her in a flash, startling her as it spun, like a coin on its edge, on the kitchen counter. Attached was a note, written on vellum with a sure hand and beautiful ink: Best Apple Pie In Existence.

Mona hung it up in the pie shop for all her patrons to see, even if she never could quite explain how she won it.

**Author's Note:**

> I meant this to be a one-note joke on a [famous Carl Sagan quote](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7s664NsLeFM), but then I accidentally fell in love. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!


End file.
